The world -- and who would call it right? -- Is made for men of medium height; And I, a meagre six-feet-two, My exaltation often rue. My hats I've battered by the score On many a lowly linteled door. My luckless head oft wears a scar To show where cellar steam-pipes are. The "ready-mades" a fellow buys Are made for folks of average size. Mirrors are set to gather in Sir Six-foot's necktie or his chin. Some pygmy with malicious pate Has built all beds for five-feet-eight. Wagners and Pullmans all contrive Their scanty berths for five-feet-five. There's not a table but will squeeze A man of more than medium knees, While pews and chairs are all for him -- The chap of Lilliputian limb. Procrustes, as the ancients said, Devised a very vicious bed. His victims, neatly tied to it, Were masterfully made to fit. Too long, too short, this baron stout Just cut them off or stretched them out. Procrustes' mensurating mood None, until now, have understood. The hapless baron certainly Was six-feet-two, or maybe three, And thus a righteous vengeance hurled Against a medium, average world. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LEFT-HANDED POEM by JAMES GALVIN THE PASSING OF THE EX-SLAVE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON EPITAPH IN A CHURCH-YARD IN CHARLESTON, SOUTH CAROLINA by AMY LOWELL ON CARPACCIO'S PICTURE: THE DREAM OF ST. URSALA; SONNET by AMY LOWELL EIGHTEEN-DOLLAR TAXI TRIP TO TIZAPAN AND BACK TO CHAPALA by CLARENCE MAJOR |